


Blue Moon

by BannedBloodOranges



Series: Smoke Gets In Your Eyes [4]
Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Manipulation, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-25 00:42:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30080853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BannedBloodOranges/pseuds/BannedBloodOranges
Summary: Novac is a a town full of shadows. He don't know the nice way of saying but he don't know many nice ways of saying anything. Maybe the town is alright, maybe he is the shadow. He should know, he sees shadows all the time. Especially through the scope.Doesn't see the shadow creeping up behind him.
Relationships: Carla Boone/Craig Boone, Craig Boone & Male Courier
Series: Smoke Gets In Your Eyes [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1628497
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	Blue Moon

**Author's Note:**

> Arthur belongs to Rabenherz.
> 
> Non profit fun only.

Hard to think of any day that ain't a judgement. This is another day, and it's a Monday, so he should hate it more. That's what she used to say. "I hate Mondays." Would brush out her difficult hair until the comb was thick with it. (It's still there, in her drawer. Fat with curls, untouched, uncleaned.) Never worked a day but hated Mondays, would complain about how her bra steps would dig into her shoulders in the heat, how her ankles would swell. She blamed the heat. Later, it was the baby.

It's Monday. He hates it. Don't think of any other reason why he would hate Mondays. He just hates them, that's reason enough. Monday. Monday night is pretty shit, because after that comes a Tuesday, and give him time, he'll dislike that too.

But it's Monday night and he has to go to work. Well, they call it work, but it's relief. He don't kill much, out here, except geckos and the ghouls that have been crawling east, but no people. But he can focus, stare through the scope until his eyes blur. You'll need glasses, she used to say. Glasses are no good, he'll say. They'll knock against the scope. Glasses can be sexy, she would say back, with her smile. Glasses won't look sexy on me, he'd reply. They'll get in the way. I won't be able to work.

She would laugh, hard and hoarse and say -

I hate Mondays.

There are no more ghouls. Manny told that stranger to go after them. Boone saw them leave, saw them come back. The stranger stayed in Manny's room after. Maybe they fucked. If they did, he don't care. Gotta stop thinking about what happens in Manny's room after dark. Gotta stop thinking about Manny, full stop, but at least he looks him in the eye. To deny it, but he still looks. 

It's a town full of shadows. He don't know the nice way of saying but he don't know many nice ways of saying anything. Maybe the town is alright, maybe he is the shadow. He should know, he sees shadows all the time. Especially through the scope.

Doesn't see the shadow creeping up behind him.

It's the stranger. Usually not Manny's type, he likes them small and dark. But that was back when he cared. He don't care anymore, so he doesn't think about it. The stranger has red hair. That's rare.

"Don't creep up on me." He's tired, but he can still be angry. The stranger has a face easy to be angry at. The woman who travels with him, his sister. He's not as good with women. Not angry, indifferent. She'd looked at him. Didn't know what she saw. Nothing to see. "Why are you here?"

"Well..." The stranger leans over the dinosaur's teeth. The moonlight shows his stitches. Been in the wars, maybe, but not his war. Don't walk like a soldier. "Thought I'd check out the view. Don't have a camera, do you? I wanna take a picture with me riding this awesome dinosaur."

Guy thinks he's smart.

"You didn't answer my question." Smart people never have any answers. Like a boyfriend Manny once had. Answered every question with another question. "Why are you here?"

Brainiac doesn't move. Just tucks his hand on his palm, looks up at him, like he's wise. Boone doesn't like the look, but its a new face, at least. A face that looks him in the eye. 

"Wait," Boone speaks. "You might be who I'm looking for after all."

The stranger looks him up and down. Not that way, but that's not important. He'll figure that out soon enough. 

"Funny, that." He slots his arm through the teeth, picks the mould off between the white. Looks like mould, where the paint has peeled off. She hadn't liked the dinosaur. The damn thing has plac, she'd say. It's not smiling. It's grimacing. I hate it, Craig. How can you sit in it night after night? "I got the sense you wanted to get rid of me. Maybe I'm flattered."

He has a weird way of saying, makes the words slur, like he's drunk, or maybe he's a poet. Boone don't care either way. 

"I need someone I can trust." Not good with words, not good with women. But he has to try. "You're a stranger. That's a start."

The stranger looks at him but says nothing, but the kind of nothing which means he is listening. Boone needs him to listen, just once. Nobody listened when it happened. All he can do is listen now, to her voice, to Manny's voice. No fucking choice.

"I need you to find something out for me." He has caps under his mattress. One hundred and twenty-five, not much for life savings. Give or take a year, it won't matter much. "My wife was taken from our home by Legion slavers while I was on watch."

The stranger doesn't blink, just sticks one foot behind him and chews his thumbnail. Usually, they baulk by now. Splutter out an apology, say something stupid by trying to be nice. But he just stares.

"That sucks."

"They knew where to come and what route to take but they only took Carla. Someone set it up. I don't know who." He'd been in Dinky's mouth when they did it. Eating a gecko ham sandwich, counting the stars, thinking of baby names. Now no more stars, or ham sandwiches. No baby.

"You trying to track your wife?" The stranger says, breezily. "Well, as I said, sucks. She's most likely dead."

"My wife's dead." He snarls out the answer before the question, and Manny would say take it easy, Craig. People aren't mind readers. Yeah, that's right. The stranger wasn't there, he doesn't know. "I want the son of a bitch who sold her. I got money. I can make it worth your while."

The stranger pulls off the toothed rail, scratches his neck. He's interested and trying not to look it.

"What do I do when I find this person?"

"Bring him out in front of the nest while I'm on duty. I work nights." He takes off his beret. Doesn't like that, feels naked without it. But desperate times and the like. " I'll give you my NCR beret to put on. It'll be our signal, so I know you're standing with him. And I'll take care of the rest." 

His fight, his revenge, his baby. No stars, no sandwich, no baby. All he has, now. He half expects the stranger to refuse. He would if he still had Carla. 

"Okay." The stranger nods, like its easy. Milk and cookie easy. His ma would say. Easy. "Okay."

* * *

He waits until the sun goes down. It feels like years. He’s boarded up the windows. Did that when he came in and found her gone. Stopped them coming round, asking questions. The sunlight slits through the boards, so clear cut he can count the dust in the air. The shadows lengthen and darken and die. He takes a piss, forces down some canned food and water, holds up his gun. He’s cleaned the barrel, shining so he can see his own face, blown up, in the reflection.

He leaves, goes up Dinky’s stairs and crouches in the sniper nest. Same as usual, same as always, but won’t be always for much longer. The sun is down, finally. He prefers the dark, sees better in it.

There is the stranger, beret pulled over his ears. Red hair under a red beret. It clashes, Craig, she would have said. Blood on blood, I hate it. Don’t wear it, Craig. Take it off, please.

Boone straightens up, squares the shot. Through the scope, everything is clearer. He don’t need a spotter for what he has to do. In the moonlight, the target. She takes off her wiry glasses to shine them. He lines up the shoot, centres the scope on the brassy silver of her hairline. She looks up, idly.

Doesn’t see him.

Boone’s lips curve.

He sees the dark matter spill, pieces of skull and hair topple from her buttoned neck.

It’s done.

The stranger removes the beret, turns up his head, and salutes.

The woman's head is a smear on the tarmac, the grey body tangled in the razor wire and dry grass. The sight is familiar. He'll be gone by the morning. Won't see it come the daylight.

"How'd you know?" A shadow knows the approach of a stranger. He hands the beret over with a smile. Boone looks at him properly. He's got a broad face, freckled. Like a kid. "I didn't think it'll be a woman."

"Be careful of those who look as if they have their shit together," He hands over a receipt. A fucking receipt. Boone can't read all the letters, but he sees Carla and the numbers and a signature. Numb to see it like that, in ink and paper. Numb because it's over with, done now. Everyone gets theirs. He should get his soon if he is lucky.

"Figures." Boone hands it back. He doesn't want to see it again. The stranger tucks it away; small mercy. "They'd keep paperwork."

He fishes in the pockets for the sack of caps. The stranger doesn't take them, just looks at him funny. Boone hates that. No, that's not how it goes. It's a transaction, that's all it is. He doesn't want the silence as the guy thinks about it. The silence brings the memories; he don't want them either.

"Hey." The stranger says. "What are you gonna do after this?"

"Take the caps."

"Answer my question."

There's a force in that twisted grin and pitiless eyes. Boone holds his gun close to his stomach, finger twitching on the trigger. A stranger who walks into a town and helps stage a revenge murder. Should have twigged he'll be an opportunist or a loon. 

"Dunno." He shrugs. "Can't stay here. Maybe I'll wander, like you."

"Why do it alone?" The stranger holds his fingers like a gun, points to Boone's temple. "You're a pretty good shot. Could use you."

"That's not a good idea."

"Snipers work in pairs, handsome. And the nightlife here isn't exactly..." He gestures to the dark space beneath them. "...lively."

Boone looks at him. He waits for Manny, then Carla, then himself. Nothing, just him and the stranger and the wind whistling through Dinky's ancient bolts.

"Okay." He nods. He feels weird. "Let's get out of here."

Before the morning. He doesn't want to see this place again. Burn it, if he could. The motel room and the gift shop and even the fucking dinosaur. See it all go up, reflected in his sunglasses. The stranger smirks and beckons with a crook of his finger.

They are halfway down the stairs when Boone grunts to get his attention.

"Your name." It seems right. Can't go walking with his gaze fixed on the back of a stranger's head. "What is it?"

"Arthur." The stranger drawls. "And you're Craig Boone, right?"

"How you know?"

"Manny. Likes pillow talk."

Out into the night, following Arthur's footfall, Boone has a realisation. He stops, watches Arthur greet the woman he's travelling with. (They both have red hair, but that don't mean blood.) She looks at Boone over Arthur's shoulder and shrugs, taking a deep swig of whiskey.

But the epiphany won't go. Boone shakes his head from side to side, opens and closes his eyes, but it's fruitless.

Carla's voice is gone.


End file.
